


Entr'acte

by stcrmpilot



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Blood and Injury, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Audio 04.03 Annihilation, Prompt Fill, poor narvin can't catch a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 20:44:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stcrmpilot/pseuds/stcrmpilot
Summary: While the trio wait to return to the Axis, Leela makes a brief new acquaintance.





	Entr'acte

It becomes clear, some time after the battle’s pyrrhic conclusion, that there are indeed survivors. The silence of the nest subsides, slowly, as the True Lord army creeps out of the trenches and up through the castle grounds, murmuring amongst themselves like they can’t quite believe the fight is over. Then the doors are breached and the first victory cry rings out through the empty stone halls, quickly picked up by the other soldiers, until the nest is filled with cheering and howling and the hysterical laughter of people who never expected to live. 

It’s music to Leela’s ears, and for a brief moment she wants to go down and share in their joy, brief though it may be. But the celebration ends, and the survivors begin the task of searching the nest. She only listens to the booted footsteps sweeping the lower levels for a moment before she returns to her pacing. She can't stand the quiet. 

There’s only one window in the Great Key chamber, a large stained glass mosaic depicting the Lord Prydon engaged in some sort of glorious battle. As incredible as it is to see the sunlight again after so long, Leela finds herself wishing the chamber were dark. The dappled light only illuminates the carnage that’s occurred—the blood sprayed across the gears of the Key mechanism and smeared on the floor by the scuffle, the particulate remains of the two Vampires and Cassandra’s knife lying abandoned on the ground. And the trail, red-orange droplets gleaming in the fresh sunlight, that leads from the Key to the two figures huddled in the middle of the room, just outside the window’s reach. Leela’s stomach clenches. 

Romana, desperate to be useful in the lull after the fight, has gathered Narvin into her lap. He lies in her arms, head resting limp on her shoulder, eyes closed; even from across the room Leela can see him shivering, twitching from the pain. His robes are soaked through with mud and rainwater and his own blood, torn from the upper arm across his chest in two places, and Romana is just as covered. They’ve been waiting so long that the Time Lords have become the centre of a small rust-coloured pool. As Leela watches, a low, agonized noise is pulled from his throat, like the cry of a wounded animal, and Romana tugs him tighter against her body, whispering hurried assurances that he likely isn’t conscious enough to understand. He sobs, draws a halting breath, and goes quiet once more. 

Suddenly Leela can't bear it. She mutters an explanation to Romana, something about looking around for the portal again, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. The nest smells of mould and ash but she immediately takes a deep breath, relieved to get the stench of blood out of her nose. Her exhale is shaky with nerves. It’s the waiting that’s doing her in, the complete and utter inability to do anything until the portal nears the nest. She’s keenly aware that Narvin’s life now lies in the hands of fate; he could bleed to death in Romana’s arms before they even get a chance to return to the Axis, and they would be helpless to stop it. They survived this far, they killed Prydon and lifted the transduction barrier, they did what they set out to do, but it feels like failure.

A wave of fury overcomes her, and she barely resists the urge to throw herself at the rough stone wall. This—Narvin’s death—isn’t something she’s ever had to consider before, and she can’t make heads or tails of the emotions raging inside her. For despite all the times they’ve found themselves in mortal danger, all the times he’s approached this point before, never once has she thought he would _ die. _ Regenerate, maybe, and that would be a hard change for all of them, but he would still be _ him _and he would still be here, to see and hear and talk to and touch, when the occasion permits, and he would still wear his stupid robes everywhere, she’s certain, and he would still revel in their bouts of teasing and he’d complain when there’s a mess in the kitchen and he’d smile just the way he does when she asks questions about whatever piece of machinery he’s taken apart that day. She’s never faced the prospect of losing him and now it’s lurking at her back like an overzealous predator, waiting for those few make-or-break minutes that will decide whether he lives or dies, whenever they may come. She doesn't know how to put words to the way that makes her feel. 

She’s so caught up in her thoughts that she nearly misses the sound of someone approaching. She freezes at the first scrape of something hard along the floor, and at the second draws her knife, creeping silently across the hall to use the corner as cover. For a moment she thinks it’s a humanoid in armour of some sort, dragging something behind it. Then the hesitant steps come to a stop, and a high whimper echoes around the corner. She peeks out. 

It’s one of Borusa’s Hounds, and it’s immediately clear that the creature is injured. It’s trembling with the effort of holding itself up, its dark pelt coated in mud and laced with deep lacerations. One of its hind legs hangs limp behind it, twisted the wrong way and dripping blood, and as she steps out from around the corner it lifts its head towards her and sniffs the air, almost plaintive in its expression. Leela is certain the creature’s no threat to her; she puts her knife away, pity and sorrow twinging at her heart. 

She isn’t sure why—the toll of the day, perhaps, quite simply—but something compels her to kneel in front of the ragged Hound, bringing herself to its eye level. Curious, it drags itself forward one painful step, stretching its neck out to sniff at her face. 

“Hello, beast,” she says softly. Cautious, uncertain of how it will react and uncertain of why she’s taking the risk, she reaches up and offers it the back of her hand, letting it smell her and decide whether she’s a threat. “You have had a hard battle today, I see.”

The Hound snuffles at her hand for a moment, then nudges its cold, wet nose under her fingers. She has enough experience with animals to take the hint; she strokes over its snout to the side of its head, half-dried mud coming off on her hand as she scratches through its fur, and she cracks a little smile when it leans into her touch, its bloodied mouth opening to pant happily. It’s as if the end of the war has pacified the creature, and now all it wants is shelter and comfort. A place to rest at last. 

It tries to get closer, and its mangled leg gives out beneath it. Fearing it will lash out instinctively, she jumps back as it yelps and whines and struggles to regain its footing, sickened by its cries of pain. It collapses, gets its front paws beneath it and then falls again, and this time stays down, sprawled on its side and whimpering quietly. Carefully, aware that it may still attack in its distress, Leela sits once more. 

From this angle she can see its injuries much better, and knows instantly that it’s beyond help. Its wounds are full of mud and dirty water, many still open and oozing blood, and its leg is crushed. She thinks it must have been part of the very first wave, those few True Lords who managed to breach the nest before being slaughtered, or it would never have managed to get so deep inside. The whites of its eyes flash fearfully as it watches her from the ground, its tongue lolling out and chest heaving as it fights for breath. Leela’s gaze falls on a deep gash in its shoulder. She feels tears sting at her eyes. 

She’ll have to kill it. She can’t allow it to suffer like this any longer. And that is good, she knows that, it’s her honour to be able to end its pain and send it to whatever afterlife it once held dear. That doesn't upset her. But suddenly she sees no majesty in the Hound’s transformed body, nothing admirable in its keen senses and powerful frame. She feels no envy for the soldier who gave up their personhood to become this, not like she did for Braxiatel back in Borusa’s tent, and she wants nothing to do with the glorious war it represents. It’s a waste. This whole planet is full of slaughter and sacrifice and none of it is worth a thing if Narvin dies. What was the point of becoming a Hound if she still cannot protect the only people she has left?

She doesn’t register the tears streaming down her cheeks until the Hound gets up on its chest, making tiny whimpering noises as it strains to get near her. She half-laughs, half-sobs as it nudges her cheek with its nose and licks the tears from her chin, tentative, like it knows it’s offering comfort in her language—and perhaps it does, she thinks, perhaps it has enough intelligence left to show her kindness, though it’s more likely that its exhausted body simply needs the salt. Then everything hits her all over again, and it cracks something out of place behind her breastbone, and through the pain and terror and guilt she registers the taste of blood left at the corner of her mouth by the creature’s tongue, the same blood staining her hands and smeared on her clothes and spreading around the Time Lords in the chamber, and then she’s crying into its matted fur and listening to its twin heartbeats slow. 

She gathers herself quickly, once she remembers where she is; she doesn't have the luxury of breaking down yet. Without further ado she covers the Hound’s eye, draws her knife and cuts its throat. She strokes its head and ears as it gasps, and twitches, and finally lays still. Then she closes its eyes, and returns to the chamber. 

“He’s been asking after you,” says Romana, as soon as she joins them. She doesn't bother asking whether the portal is back; her sense of time is impeccable, and she knows the planet hasn't turned enough yet. 

Leela looks at her, taken aback. She turns her gaze to Narvin, still huddled in her lap, and kneels at his side. 

“Narvin?” she murmurs. “Are you with us still?”

Narvin opens his eyes dazedly, agony written in every line of his face, and somehow manages to look relieved. “Leela,” he sighs. It takes him a moment to process what she’s said and formulate a response. “Can’t get rid of me that easily,” he mumbles. 

A surge of that same undefinable emotion swells inside her, and she feels like she can’t breathe. He’s so pale; he can’t quite seem to focus his gaze on her, and he’s shaking worse than before. Her heart clenches painfully when she notices the tear tracks down his cheeks where some of the blood and dirt have been washed away. She can't tell whether his wounds have begun to clot under all the shredded, bloodstained fabric, but she knows with every hunter’s instinct in her body that he needs medical help either way. He knows it too. She can see the terror in his eyes. And suddenly it makes a little bit more sense, what she’s feeling, because she’s absolutely certain she doesn't want him to be afraid, or in pain, and if he must be then she wants him to know that he is safe and cared for and that everything will be alright. She wants to make him feel better. 

She thinks perhaps she shouldn’t be as surprised as she is, though admittedly she’s done her best not to consider it for too long at once. She knows that she can't say it, not to him. He wouldn’t want to hear it aloud. So she places a hand on his knee, hoping she can at least comfort him in some small way. 

“I do not want to be rid of you,” she says waveringly. 

He stares at her, momentarily distracted from the pain. Then his eyes water, shining in the dim light, and he turns away blinking furiously. Romana casts a glance full of sorrow and worry at Leela before hugging him closer, touching their foreheads together in a gesture so affectionate that Leela knows she wouldn’t do it if she didn't fear the possibility of never getting another chance. It seems to calm him somewhat, and he allows himself to relax against her shoulder with a wince, his breath hitching visibly as he struggles not to show his pain. Leela can't embrace him without hurting him, so she inches closer and gently cups his cheek, wiping stray tears away with her thumb. 

“You’re not going anywhere, Narvin,” Romana says quietly. “You’ll be fine. Not long now, you’ll be just fine.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and Leela watches confusion flicker in Narvin’s eyes, as if he can't comprehend her sudden change in demeanour. It tugs at her heartstrings; of course he can’t. 

It’s no great shock to her when Narvin chooses not to follow that train of thought to its logical conclusion, instead turning his focus inwards in an attempt to regulate his pain responses. And that’s what she finds most jarring: that he is so vulnerable, lying in Romana’s arms, barely conscious from the agony and blood loss, that he hasn’t a choice but to be vulnerable. That doesn’t feel right to her. She’s seized by the urge to distract him, offer him a chance to put that mask back in place, however flimsy. Though it pains her to do it, she draws back her hand and gives her best shot at a teasing smile. 

“For all that you go on about the prowess of a CIA agent, Narvin, you appear to be remarkably unprepared for an emergency.”

He eyes her for a moment, during which Leela can’t tell for the life of her what he feels. Then a tiny smile flickers over his lips, barely breaking through the anguish; he takes a shuddering breath, and allows his tense muscles to relax, ever so slightly. 

“You know, Leela,” he says, strained and breathless but mostly lucid, “I didn't notice in the trenchlands, but you smell like wet dog.”

Leela laughs, soft and slightly incredulous—the very same laughter as the soldiers far below. She believes it now: he’ll be just fine. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [stcrmpilot.tumblr.com](https://stcrmpilot.tumblr.com)!


End file.
